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And Other Verses. 



/ 



FRED. W. LORING. 




3XX 



HiORlNGr, Pviblisher, 

Cor. Bromfield and Washington Streets, 
BOSTON. 



/f// 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 

A. K. LORING, 

In the oflSce of the Librarian of Congress, at "Wasliington. 



Kockwell & Churchill, Printers nnd Stercotypers, 
122 Washington Street, Boston. 



/s^^!^.^^i 




PUBLISHER'S ADVERTISEMENT. 



THE BOSTON DIP AND OTHER VERSES. 

BY FRED. W. LORING. 

This little book contains nearly all the vers de societe 
which Mr. Loring has ever written, and of which the New 
York Tribune remarks, in its correspondence from Boston, 
that they are noticeable as " celebrating young love Avith 
a tenderness, flavored with a certain cool humor, which 
might have been done by Thackeray in that fresh, earnest, 
enthusiastic stage of his literary career, which he depicts 
in Arthur Pendennis." The chief poem in the book is, 
however, entirely new, and its scene is laid partly iu New- 
York and Boston, and partly in Newport. 




Z\jt$t Uetses 



AKE CORDIALLY DEDICATED 



TO MY FORMEK ASSOCIATES 



HARVARD ADVOCATE, 

IN WHICH MANY OF THEM WERE OTtlGINALLY 
PUBLISHED. 



wr 





CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The Boston Dip 9 

In Vacation 32 

Hints for a Class-day Eomance .... 35 

Tom to Ned 38 

Love up a Tree 42 

The Crimson and the Blue 4G 

At the Box Office 49 

Alice to Gertrude 53 

The Romance of the Restaurant .... 57 

The Fair Millinger 60 





THE BOSTON DIP. 



PRACTICAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE DIP. 



r 



(^WUB progress of society 
Is ever on the stride ; 
Bar-rooms are generally closed, 
Policeman have no pride ; 
And, though we have not reached the point 

When bolts are laid aside. 
Yet the giddy and immoral waltz 
Has ceased fore'er to glide. 

9 



10 THE BOSTON DIP, 

No more do dancers float along. 

They frantically skip ; 
They tumble as if sick upon 

A very buoyant ship ; 
The gentle clasp around the waist 

Has now become a grip, 
And round and round the couples bob, 

It is the Boston Dip. 



One way to dance it thoroughly 

Is much champagne to sip ; 
Or, — rub your boots with orange-peel 

Till the}^ are sure to slip ; 
Or, — try to imitate a horse 

When startled by the whip, — 
In all these ways j^ou'll meet success, 

When you attempt the Dip. 



TBB BOSTON DIP. H 



II. 

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF THE DIP. 

It was at a soiree dansante, 

Given by Mrs. Grubbs, 
That I first saw the dancers flop 

Like elephants in tnbs, 
And said to lovely Alice Kay, 

Whom I took out to waltz, 
" I am aware that like most men 

I have my little faults, 
But I have not been drinking, though 

The people seem to tip." 
She laughed at that, and answered me, 

" Why, that's the Boston Dip." 



12 THE BOSTON DIP. 

Sweet strains of Strauss ! I hear you now 

Significant HocJizeit ! 
How to the dance jouv melody 

Did pressing^ invite ! 
My step did not agree witli hers ; 

She bumped her lovely head 
Three times against my blonde mustache, 

And our four cheeks grew red ; 
And then she disengaged herself 

And said, with pouting lip, 
" I really cannot dance with you, — 

You do not know the Dip." 



I sulked, — I don't defend myself, 
Although it was not nice, — 

Until at supper, Alice said. 
Absorbing strawberry ice, — 



THE BOSTON DIP. 13 

In very much the sort of way 

That zephyrs feed on dew, — 
" I have a little favor, which 

I'd like to ask of you." 
I turned, delighted, — with those words 

She had me on the hip, — 
And then she said, persuasively, 

" Please learn the Boston Dip." 



'' Please learn ! " Good heavens ! at those words 

My heart beat rataplan ; 
For her sweet sake, I would have tried 

The wildest French cancan, — 
The jig, the clog, the breakdown, or 

The stately minuet. 
The fierce fandango, or the fine 

And dainty pirouette. 



14 THE BOSTON DIP. 

Nay, even had St. Vitus then 

Laid upon me his grip, 
I would have danced his step with joy, 

I blessed the Boston Dip. 



I seized her hand, — I do hate slang. 

But I was a gone coon, — 
I squeezed the little prisoner 

And crushed a macaroon. 
M}^ gloves were ruined, but mj^ heart 

Was wonderfully light ; 
And I cannot distinctly tell 

What else occurred that night. 
Oh, joy, in the too shallow cup 

Of youth and love to sip ! 
I kept repeating to myself, 

'' The Dip — the Boston Dip." 



THE BOSTON DIF. 15 

Velvet and swansdown and perfume ! 

Her carriage rolled away, 
And I walked through the silent streets 

The stars made shine like day. 
The Hoclizeit Klangetlien I hummed, 

Which in such rhythm swings, 
And, as I sang, it seemed to me 

The stars waltzed round in rings ! 
The Great and Little Bears both seemed 

In harmony to skip ; 
I made this idiotic joke, — 

" The Dipper does the Dip ! " 



16 THE BOSTON DIP. 

III. 

AN ADVERTISEMENT, AND ITS RESULTS. 

"Parties desiring to learn the new step, The Boston Dip, can have 
private instruction given them by calling on F. Lo Jambais, 21 But- 
ternut St., Boston." — Extract from daily papers. 

Butternut St. I had always admired, 
Because it seemed so A'eiy retired ; 

And thither my way 

I took the next day, 
And for Monsieur F. Le Jambais inquired. 

" Monsieur," the servant remarked, " was out," 
Bat Mademoiselle Fitine, without a doubt. 

The servant knew. 

Was able to do 
Whatever business I came there about. 



THE BOSTON DIP. 17 

Mademoiselle Fifine came airily in ; 

She was not, like many French women, thin, 

But plump and petite, 

And decidedly neat, 
With a charming smile that was never a grin. 



" Ah," said mademoiselle, " you come for ze Dip ; 
Oh, I knew it well ere you open your lip. 

Monsieur, votre bras ! 

I teach ze pas. 
Now be of care zat you make not slip I " 



Who so charming as Mademoiselle Fifine ! 
She had, when she moved, an enchanting mien. 

And when she stood still 

A delightful thrill 
Seemed to pervade the Arcadian scene. 



18 THE BOSTON DIP. 

For she dressed in the most bewitching suits, 
Her skirt just looped up to show her boots ; 

Her dainty grace 

And her pretty face, 
I almost forojot were forbidden fruits. 



Three times a week I went to Fifine ; 

Her father I haven't to this day seen ; 
He was alwaj^s away. 
When I went each day, 

And without his aid we were all serene. 



I found I improved in the Dip each day ; 
Alice declared I was quite an fait; 

But I've too much pride 

To be satisfied. 
When I've not learned a thing in a thorough way. 



THE BOSTON DIP, 19 

Mademoiselle Fifine sent in her bill, 
Which I paid at once with cheerful will, 

And wrote her a note, 

Which I put in my coat. 
As I went an engagement with Alice to fill. 



It never rains but 'tis sure to pour ; 
I dropped that letter upon the floor. 

" A Mademoiselle Fifine ! 

What can this mean ? " 
Said Alice, and then she read the words o'er : — 



" Chere et cJiarmante Fifine; — Toujour s 
Je remettrai les plus Jieureuses jours, 

Que je passe 

Dans voire societe " — 
" Miss Ka}^," said I, " that note isn't yours ! 



20 THE BOSTON DIP, 

Then Alice arose, like an angry elf, 
And laid me completely on the shelf; 

" You are," sobbed she, 

" No more to me ; 
So go to Fifine and enjoy yourself." 



It was in vain I tried to explain ; 

She sailed from the room, all my words were vain. 

I was in despair ; 

I wanted to swear, 
And I left for New York in the very next train. 



A hermit's life there I meant to lead. 
In which attempt I did not succeed ; — 

Parties and balls, 

And opera stalls. 
To keep me lively, all seemed agreed. 



THE BOSTON DIP. 21 

And, worst of all, I was forced to teach 
To every New York belle within my reach 

That cursed Dip, 

Which each fair lip 
Seemed bound to gush over, in feminine speech. 



IV. 

EXTRACTS FROM aiY DIARY. 

Monday^ — A German I was at. 

Just off Fifth Avenue ; 
I cared not for the hollow show, 

Though I stayed there till two. 
That heart that once is seared cannot 

Feel an emotion twice ; 
And so I said to Milly Bangs, 

Whom I find very nice. 



22 THE BOSTON DIP, 

Tuesday^ — I drove with Milly Bangs 

Up in the Central Park ; 
How sweet is woman's sympathy 

When all one's life is dark, 
And through the heartless, selfish crowd. 

The sad one moves alone ! 
Milly has cheered me, and I think 

Her hair is all her own. 



Wednesday^ — I dined with Papa Bangs ; 

My feelings they were hurt ; 
Milly, with such a soulless fop, 

Seemed quite inclined to flirt. 
Well, she was never aught to me ; 

But women have no hearts ; 
Thank Heaven, I can calmly smile 

At their amusing arts ! 



THE BOSTON DIP. 23 

Thursday^ — Saw Lester Wallack play 

His favorite part in Ours; 
Milly went with me, and the air 

Seemed redolent of flowers. 
I find I have misjudged that girl ; — 

Her nature's really true ; 
She has the freshness of a bud 

Just tipped with morning dew. 



Friday, — I have decided that 

My summer shall be spent 
In Newport, though I do not care 

Where I am ever sent. 
Life is a dreary blank to me. 

And nowhere can I view 
A spot that interests or charms ; — 

She's going to Newport too. 



24 THE BOSTON DIP. 

Saturday^ — That disgusting fop, 

That Mr. Euderive, 
Who is so very commonplace, 

Took Milly out to drive. 
I do not care, — as I have said, 

She ne'er was aught to me, — 
She's going with me to vespers, though, 

To-morrow after three. 



Sunday, — Again life smiles on me ; 

Milly is mine for aye ; 
After the service, I proposed 

This ever-blessed day. 
One trifle, though, my heart disturbs, 

But nonsense, — let it slip, — 
She's promised to teach Endcrive 

That fatal Boston Dip. 



THE BOSTON DIP. 25 



AT NEWPORT. 

It was at Newport my romance 

Of drives and dips and dances ended, 
The surf, the air, the drives, the hops, 

All ni}^ desires and aims befriended. 
Business detained me in New York, 

So I could not come on with Milly ; 
And when we met upon the beach 

I fancied she looked rather silly. 



For she was then in bathing dress, 

Her pretty head in oiled-silk swathing, 

With that infernal Enderive 

Just on the point of going in bathing. 



26 THE BOSTON DIP. 

Some other charming girls were there, 
And Milly, quite devoid of malice, 

Not knowing what she did, to me 
Then introduced one. It was Alice ! 



We stood a moment in surprise, 

Then a big wave knocked Alice over ; 
I picked her up, she cleared her eyes 

And recognized her former lover. 
I was prepared for cold disdain. 

Or any greeting she might give me ; 
Instead of that, she softly said, 

"Dick, I was wrong, — won't you forgive me?*' 



I looked around for Milly, then, 

And wasn't sorry that I missed her ; 

No one was looking at us two ; 

The waves dashed round us and I kissed her. 



THE BOSTON DIP. 27 

Then, recollecting what had passed, 
Like one who passion firmly smothers, 

I stood impressive in the surf, 

And said, " Alas, I am another's ! '' 

Her friends by this time called to her ; 

She said, " Good-by, I'm at the ' Ocean.' " 
Said I, " ril call there by and by ; 

You still shall have a friend's devotion." 
We parted. Milly pouted some. 

But what struck me as rather curious. 
Was, that that tiresome Enderive 

Seemed at my tete-a-tete quite furious. 

That night explained it. As I came 
From supper, meaning to go calling 

On Alice at the Ocean House, 
I stumbled on a sight appalling. 



28 THE BOSTON DIP. 

On the piazza Milly sat, 

Unconscious that I did behold her ; 
Enderive's arm was round her waist, 

And her false head was on his shoulder. 

She looked so pretty that at first 

My anger ceased ; I stood admiring ; 
And then my righteous wrath was roused. 

With rage I fairly was perspiring. 
I heard him say, " Would I were free ! 

But I must keep m}^ word of honor. 
And I'm engaged to Alice Kay ; 

My loss would be too hard upon her." 



I stood before them at those words. 

She squeaked, and fled in consternation, 
And then I said to Enderive, 

" Sir, T demand an explanation ; 



THE BOSTON DIP. 29 

Choose place and weapons for j^oorself ; 

Broadsword or rapier, pistol, rifle ; 
How dare you with my Alice's — 

I mean my Milly's — heart thus trifle ? " 

" Look here, old fellow," he replied, 

" You know you're talking rather wildly ; 
Have a cigar, sit down and smoke, 

I always like to take things mildly. 
You're fond of Alice, — don't say no ! 

And not averse to Milly, either, — 
Which had you rather I should have ? " 

Excitedly, I answered, " Neither." 



" Now come, by Jove," said Enderive, 
" I shall take one, and you the other. 

Before I could reply, a note 

"Was handed me by Milly's brother. 



30 THE BOSTON DIP. 

It was emphatic, though 'twas brief; 

" Henceforth, all's at an end between us ! " 
I handed it to Enderive, 

Said he, " You oughtn't to have seen us ! " 



Just as he spoke, a servant came, 

Bearing a small three-cornered letter. 
I saw his face change as he read. 

And knew that he had fared no better. 
" Have you been turned off by Miss Ka}'-? " 

I asked, as he looked rather sappy. 
Said he, " Well, I prefer Miss Bangs ; " 

Said I, " Then take her and be happy ! " 

And that's the way affairs stand now ; 

Alice is mine, and we agi-ee so. 
That, though we're very much engaged, 

I cannot tell how long we'll be so. 



THE BOSTON DIP. 



31 



So over all the four of us 

I hereby haste to drop the curtain, 
Though Enderive's engaged like me, 

Both life and Milly are uncertain. 





IN YACATION. 



fEAR little maiden with brown eyes, 
If you should know you were so near me, 
^ f How great would then be your surprise ! 

Perhaps you then would almost fear me ; 
You blushed so on the beach to-day, 

When you observed how close I eyed you : 
That was to-day, and here to-night 
I'm put into the room beside you. 

Only a wall between us now, 

And I can hear you just as plainly 
Rustling about : — I don't see how 

I made mj^self look so ungainly, 

32 



IN VACATION, 33 



Staring at you to-day ; — but then 
You would take any fellow's eyes 

To-morrow I'll get introduced, 
And then I will apologize. 



I know my conduct was quite rude, 

Still its effect can be amended ; 
And then I don't believe you could 

Have been so very much offended ; — 
I hear her at her trunks ; of course. 

That's a sure sign of coming sorrow, — 
So many dresses taken out. 

So many victims for to-morrow. 

Outside, the kisses of the moon 
Silver the waves along the bay ; — 

Inside, she wonders if maroon 

Looked well with her brown eyes to-day. 



34 IN VJ CATION, 

I see the clouds flit through the sk}^, 
I see the breakers dashing merry : 

She looks on dresses hung around, 
And revels in her millinery. 

I'm getting sleepy. So is she ; 

I hear her yawn. These nice thin walls 
They build in houses b}^ the sea, 

Make one hear every sound that falls. 
Good-night, mademoiselle ! Oh, dream of me, 

Whose queen, for weeks to come, thou art ! 
And then wake up to flirt again. 

I'm yours ; so come and break my heart. 






HINTS FOR A CLASS-DAY 
ROMANCE. 

FURNISHED FROM EXPERIENCE. 

'ET him be tall and neatly built, 
With promising mustache ; 
Let her be very blonde, indeed. 
Modest, yet with some dash ; 
And let it be at once assumed 
Both are supplied with cash. 

So much for persons ; — now for time, — 

Class day, his Junior year. 

He sees her, and his heart is gone ; 

A Senior brings him near, 

35 



36 A CLASS-DAY ROMANCE. 

And he is introduced ; — her name 
He doesn't clearly hear. 

But still he waltzes and he flirts, 

Until it grows quite late, 
And her mamma departs with her ; — 

He sees her to the gate, 
And a ribbon and a little glove 

He hangs above his grate. 

In winter, — in vacation time, — 
On to New York he goes ; 

And, when out sleighing in the Park 
With some one whom he knows. 

She, from a passing sleigh, a "glance 
Of recognition throws. 

And still he does not know her name, 
And still he knows her face, 



A CLASS-DAY ROMANCE, 37 

Still fairer in its winter furs 

Than in its summer lace ; — 
And he goes off from New York that night 

With a very ugly grace. 

His class-day now appears in view, 

His college life must end, 
And his pet cousin writes, and asks 

If he'll invite her friend. 
Whose beauty rare will to his spread 

Much grace and lustre lend. 

Of course he does, — of course she proves 

To be the very same 
To whom he had been introduced, 

But had not heard the name. 
Well managed, — the conclusion can't 

Be impotent or lame. 




TOM TO NED. 

EAR NED, no doubt you'll be surprised, 
When you receive and read this letter ; 
I've railed against the married state, — 
But then, you see, I knew no better. 
I've met a lovely girl out here, 

Her manner is, — well, very winning ; 
We're soon to be, — well, Ned, my dear, 
I'll tell you all from the beginning. 

I went to ask her out to ride 

Last Wednesday, — it was perfect weather, — 
She said she couldn't possibly. 

The servants had gone off together. 



TOM TO NED. 39 

Hibernians always rush away 

At cousins* funerals to be looking ; 
Pies must be made, and she must stay, 

She said, to do that branch of cooking. 

" Oh, let me help you," then I cried, 

" I'll be a cooker too — how jolly ! " 
She laughed, and answered with a smile, 

" All right, but you'll repent your folly, 
For I shall be a tyrant, sir, 

And good hard work you'll have to grapple ; 
So sit down there, and don't you stir. 

But take that knife and pare that apple." 

She rolled her sleeve above her arm, — 
That lovely arm, so plump and rounded ; 

Outside, the morning sun shone bright. 
Inside, the dough she deftly pounded. 



40 TOM TO NED, 

Her little fingers sprinkled flour, 

And rolled the pie-crust up in masses ; 

I passed a most delightful hour 
Mid butter, sugar, and molasses. 

With deep reflection, her sweet eyes 

Gazed on each pot and pan and kettle ; 
She sliced the apples, filled the pies. 

And then the upper ciiist did settle. 
Her rippling waves of golden hair 

In one great coil were tightly twisted ; 
But locks would break out, here and there, 

And curl about where'er they listed. 

And then her sleeve came down, and I 

Fastened it up, — her hands were doughy ; 

Oh, it did take the longest time, 

Her arm, Ned, was so fair and snowy ! 



TOM TO NED, 41 

She blushed, and trembled, and looked shy ; 

Somehow, that made me all the bolder. 
Her arch lips looked so red that I — 

Well, found her head upon my shoulder. 

We're to be married, Ned, next month. 

Come and enjoy the wedding revels ; 
I really think that bachelors 

Are the most miserable devils ! 
You'd better go for some girl's hand. 

And if you are uncertain whether 
You dare to make a due demand, 

Why, — just try cooking pies together. 

Tom. 





LOVE UP A TREE. 

HERE was a seat in the apple-tree, — 
A most delightful and cosey nook ; 
And one afternoon, about half-past three, 
Kitty sat there, reading a book ; 
Her fair head bare, with no hat to mar, 

And her dress just showed one dainty boot ; 
And he saw her, as he smoked his cigar. 
And he came and stood at the ladder's foot. 

Kitty half blushed, then smiled, and said, 
'' Won't you come up and sit here now? " 

And Kitty's brother — a boy to dread — 
Saw, and determined to raise a row ; 

42 



LOVE UP A TREE. 43 

So he crept softly under the tree, 

Listening to all that they had to say, 
Did the impish brother, and, sly as could be, 

Seized the ladder and bore it away. 

Then they saw him, and she, with a frown, 

Said, " What will that awful boy do next?" 
And she called him the greatest scamp in town ; 

Yet I don't believe she was very much vexed. 
For her lips half smiled, though her eyes half cried, 

As she saw the position of matters now. 
And he came over and sat by her side, 

Leaving his seat on the opposite bough. 

What could they do ? They were captive there, 

Held as if by an iron Ijand ; 
Kitty tossed back her golden hair, 

And reflectively leaned her cheek on her hand. 



44 LOVE UP A TREE, 

" If," said he, " we for help should call, 
They'd laugh to see us in such a plight ; 

So we'd better stay here till the shadows fall, 
Or till some one or other comes in sight." 



And some one did come. It was Kitty's papa, 

Who past the tree his footsteps traced, 
And saw, through the leaves, a lit cigar, 

And a masculine arm round a feminine waist. 
Kitty looked down and blushed at one, 

And then looked up and blushed at the other ; 
Said the father, " These are nice goings-on ! " 

Said Kitty, " 'Twas all the fault of my brother." 

What was the end? I'll tell you that. 

Some weeks after, midst silks and lace 
And ribbons and ruches, some ladies sat, 

Who were discussing time and place-, 



LOVE UP A TREE, 



45 



As to where, — so ran their debate, — 
And when, a certain wedding should be ; 

Then that impish brother was heard to state, 
" It had better come off in the aj)ple-tree/* 






the crimson and the 
blue: 

AN INCIDENT OF THE WOKCESTER REGATTA. 

ER brother was a man of Yale, 
A member of the crew ; 
And so she came the race to see, 
Festooned with bows of blue, 
When a horrid, crimson Harvard boy 
Stood just within her view. 

They started, — and the crowd was wild ; 

She felt herself grow pale ; 
Still, as that boy yelled " Harvard ! " forth, 

She sung out " Yale ! Yale ! ! Yale ! ! ! " 

46 



THE CRIMSON AND BLUE. 47 

And the boats shot past, and no one knew 
Which would at last prevail. 

*' Oh, which is leading now?" she cried, 

Unmindful of the sho^vers 
Which poured upon her gauzy robes 

And her little hat's blue flowers. 
Then that Harvard boy turned round and said, 

" I'm afraid that it is ours ! '* 

It was so very gracefully 

And delicately said, 
That, beneath her eyes of true Yale blue, 

Her cheeks flushed Harvard red, 
And all of her antipathy 

To that Harvard boy had fled. 

That evening, her big brother said, 
*' It still has been of use, 



48 THE CRIMSON AND BLU. 

Our coming here, though I admit 
The Harvards cooked our goose, 

Since I have met a Harvard friend, 
Whom I must introduce." 



And so he did. Again the red 

Rushed over her sweet face ; 
Again she thought that Harvard boy 

Showed gentlemanly grace. 
And, in spite of her spoiled dress, declared 

Worcester a charming place. 



I know two lovers, but their names 

To tell I do refuse ; 
And a new engagement is announced, 

But I will not say whose. 
And will simply offer, as a toast, 

" The Crimsons and the Blues ! " 




AT THE BOX OFFICE. 

HE lived up town, — a brown stone case 
Enclosed my jewel bright and fair ; 
And when I visited the place 
I ne'er could do a thing but stare 
And let her talk, — I could not speak 

The slightest bit of news upon ; 
And thus stood matters one March week, 
When Maggie Mitchell played Fanclion, 

She raved of Maggie at great length. 

Declared that she must go some night ; — 

So suddenly I mustered strength 
This radiant being to invite, 

49 



50 AT THE BOX OFFICE. 

And she accepted, — whereupon 
I very nearly j'CUed " Hurrah ! '* 

I don't know what I might have done, 
But just then entered her mamma. 

Good heavens ! How that piece did draw ! 

I had just stepped beside the rail 
To give my tickets, when I saw 

The state of matters and turned pale. 
I'd made a change of dress throughout, 

Upon this jaunt with her to come ; 
I'd brought this heavenly creature out. 

Leaving my pocket-book at home. 

I stood there, vexed and mortified ; 

'Twas cruel as it was absurd ; — 
Then did a little gloved hand glide 

Straight into mine, without a word. 



AT THE BOX OFFICE, 51 

Leaving a dainty portemonnaie, 

Of pearl and gold, most quaintly made, 

From wliicb, scarce knowing what to say, 
I for the evening's tickets paid. 



When I sat down along with her, — 

" Now don't look so annoj^ed," said she ; 
" Of course, mistakes sometimes occur, 

And people lose their property." 
Confused, I answered, " I agree, 

Yet must feel vexed about it, though ; 
What's yours does not belong to me." 

Said she, " Why shouldn't it be so?" 

She spoke unthinkingly, then blushed. 

" Oh, do you mean it? " straight I cried. 
My wild delight she would have hushed ; 

A feeble no in vain she tried, 



52 AT THE BOX OFFICE. 

But I'd not hear it, so at last, 

" Yes, — just to keep you still," said she. 
" There, there, don't hold my hand so fast, 

The usher will be sure to see." 

O Maggie Mitchell, I must say. 

You never played as you played then ; 
And she remarked the other day, 

That we must see FancJion again. 
So, when you come, we shall be there, 

And you shall hear her now aver. 
That I, to make all matters square. 

Must, on the next time, pay for her. 





ALICE TO GERTRUDE. 



EAR GERTY, — Tom will give you this ; 
He leaves us by this evening's boat ; 
No chance of seeing you he'll miss, 
And so I've made him take this note, 
And packet too. You'll see the cape 

Is half turned back, which brings in view 
The rose-tint and improves the shape , 
And makes the whole effect quite new. 



Speaking of Tom, — you must recall, 
A week before you went from town, 

That waltz at Mrs. Upham's ball, 

When all your lovely hair came down. 

53 



54 ALICE TO GERTRUDE. 

Well, Tom's not been the same since then, — 
Not that he's said a word to me ; 

But I'm eighteen, and I know men, 
And I've got eyes, and I can see. 

Two weeks ago he went awa}^ 

To spend some da3^s at Harry Bright's ; 
Mamma and I both saw our way 

To set the fellow's room to rights. 
So in we went. Oh, such a pile 

Of clothes and books, thrown hit or miss ! 
But, darling, — I can see j^ou smile, — 

Midst the disorder we found this : — 



TO G- 



If your eyes icere dusky gi'ay, 
Instead of azure rare; 

If your bloom should fade aivay, 
Still Kjoidd you he fair ; 



ALICE TO GERTRUDE. 55 

E*en though your lovely smile ivent too, 

Still, still would you he fair, 
If you hut kept your hair, my love. 

If you hut kept your hair. 

Wlien its heavy coils unrolled. 

Amidst the hallroom's glare. 

In a floating cloud of gold, 
> 
You stood an instant there. 

And then you hlushed and fled away, — 

My heart went with you there; 
You hound it in your hair, my love. 

In the meshes of your hair. 



Well, dear, are you surprised, or not? 

Here's a nice piece of work you've made ! 
Isn't it lucky you forgot 

That evening to put on your braid? 



56 ALICE TO GERTRUDE, 

Tom's heart at last is really gone ; 

It seems so awfully absurd ! 
So, darling, as affairs go on, 

Be sure you often write me word. 

Tom's a good fellow, you must own, 

And handsome, too, as all can see ; 
A better brother ne'er was known. 

Than Tom has always been to me. 
So, Gerty, though you'll flirt, of course, 

Still give his woes a speedy end. 
And, please now, don't use all your force. 

For he's the brother of your friend. 

Alice. 






THE ROMANCE OF THE 
RESTAURANT. 



E was the city editor, 

Upon the " Evening Post ; " 
And his proprietors averred 
"Was in himself a host ; 
And his invariable lunch 

Was al\7ays, " Oysters — Roast ! " 

For weeks he'd seen this lovely girl, 
With eyes of turquoise blue, 

And mourning robes, that well set off 
Her hair of sunny hue ; 

67 



58 ROMANCE OF THE It E S T AU li A N T , 

And he had noticed, with a smile, 
She took roast oysters too. 

One day it chanced they sat alone 

In solitary state, 
Both glancing on their watches then, 

As though afraid to wait, 
"When finall}^ the w^aiter came 

With but a single plate. 

" The fact is, sir," the waiter said, 
" You find us at our worst ; 

We're out of oysters, ma'am, just now, 
We're regularly burst ; 

So one of you will have to wait, — 
Which was it ordered first ? " 

Neither could tell. The waiter then 
Did blankly on them lower. 



ROMANCE OF THE RESTAVllANT. 59 

" I teach a school," said she, " and must 

Be back within an hour." 
" I certainly can't wait," said he, 

" My work don't leave me power." 

He bowed, and rose to leave. Then she. 

Blushing a rosy hue. 
Said, in a very charming way, 

" You must not say adieu ; 
But stop awhile and share with me, 

There's quite enough for two ! " 



Why should I lengthen out the tale ? 

If you have not y^i guessed 
The true, artistic end, which made 

These oyster-eaters blest. 
Go ask the waiter, — he'll be glad 

To tell you all the rest. 




THE FAIR MILLINGER, 

A BALLAD. 

BY THE WATERTOWN HORSE-CAR CONDUCTOR. 



ij'T was a millinger most gay, 
l| As sat within her shop ; 

A student came along that way, 
And in he straight did pop. 
Clean shaven he, of massive mould, 

He thought his looks was killing her ; 
So lots of stuff to him she sold : 
" Thanks ! " says the millinger. 

60 



THE FAIR MIL LINGER, 61 

He loafed around and seemed to try 

On all things to converse ; 
The millinger did mind her ej^e, 

But also mound his purse. 
He tried, then, with his flattering tongue, 

With nonsense to be filling her ; 
But she was sharp, though she was j^oung : 

" Thanks ! " says the millinger. 



He asked her to the theatre, 

They got into my car ; , 
Our steeds were tired, could hardly stir, 

He thought the way not far. 
A pr-etty pict-i-ure she made. 

No doctors had been pilling her ; 
Fairly the fair one's fare he paid : 

" Thanks ! " says the millinger. 



62 THE FAIR MILLING ER. 

When we arrived in Bowdoin Square, 

A female to them ran ; 
Then says that millinger so fair, 

" Oh, thank you, Mary Ann ! 
She's going with us, she is," says she, 

" She only is fulfilling her 
Duty in looking after me : 

Thanks ! " says that millinger. 



" Why," says that student chap to her, 

" I've but two seats to hand." 
" Too bad," replied that millinger, 

" Then you will have to stand." 
" I won't stand this," says he, " I own 

The joke which you've been drilling her 
Here, take the seats and go alone ! " 

" Thanks ! " says the millinger. 



THE FAIR MILLINGER. 



63 



That ere much-taken-down young man 

Stepped back into my car. 
We got fresh horses, off they ran ; 

He thought the distance far. 
And she is now my better half, 

And oft, when coo-and-billing her, 
I think about that chap and laugh : 

" Thanks ! " sa^^s my millinger. 




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